


a cliché title about shelters from the storm

by returnsandreturns



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Hook-Up, Hurricanes & Typhoons, I mean kind of, M/M, Platonic Sex, Storms, anyway, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8229475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: A few hours after Columbia cancels classes for the next day in anticipation of Hurricane Sandy, Foggy comes back to their room and announces his gift of a half-empty bottle of vodka and a carton of orange juice, adding, “Never say I don’t provide for you, Murdock.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this unexpectedly in like two hours for an anon request of fluffy Matt/Foggy hurricane fic [on Tumblr](http://returnsandreturns.tumblr.com) and figured it was complete enough to throw it up here, too~

A few hours after Columbia cancels classes for the next day in anticipation of Hurricane Sandy, Foggy comes back to their room and announces his gift of a half-empty bottle of vodka and a carton of orange juice, adding, “Never say I don’t provide for you, Murdock.”

“Are those survival rations?” Matt asks, dryly, from where he’s sprawled out on his bed listening to a lecture.

“Yes, exactly. I was stuck in that god awful Geoff-with-a-G’s rooms for a study group and I liberated these from his mini-fridge,” Foggy says, sitting them on his desk. “I also have the finest that the vending machines downstairs have to offer.”

There’s an unsettling symphony of cellophane crinkling as he drops an armful of snacks that Matt can probably smell each individual preservative in, if he bothered to.

“My hero,” he says.

“You want to start now?” Foggy asks, crossing the room to steal Matt’s coffee mug from his desk. “And, yes, that was a rhetorical question.”

Matt smiles at the ceiling before shutting his laptop and sitting up.

“Might as well,” he says.

“That’s the spirit, buddy,” Foggy says, already mixing a drink, tapping the spoon against the edge of the mug. He touches Matt’s hand before he presses the mug into it, waiting expectantly until Matt takes a drink.

Matt wrinkles his nose.

“Mostly vodka,” he says. “Your specialty.”

“Only the best for you,” Foggy says. He makes his own drink before he collapses next to Matt, nudging him with an elbow. “Cheers?”

Matt lifts his mug, smiling when Foggy clinks them together, gently.

“Cheers,” Matt says.

*

Three drinks in and they’re lying on the rug between their beds, touching at their shoulders and hips, listening as the rain starts and the wind picks up outside.

“Do you think this is what everybody else is doing right now?” Foggy asks.

“The ones who aren’t having sex,” Matt says. A _lot_ of them are having sex.

“Hurricane hook-ups,” Foggy says, shaking his head. “We should have thought of that.”

“Not too late,” Matt says. There’s a whole dorm full of people stuck here—probably a few of them aren’t currently having sex with each other. “You could start—I don’t know, knocking on doors.”

Foggy laughs.

“Offer my services for the night,” he says, turning to chuckle against Matt’s shoulder.

“It’s the neighborly thing to do,” Matt says, laughing because Foggy’s laughing.

Foggy leaves his head on Matt’s shoulder, squirms a little closer so they’re pressed up against each other’s sides. He sighs, and Matt listens to the inhale and exhale, the way his body moves, suddenly a little more aware of it.

“I think I’m too drunk to forage for a mate,” he says.

Matt turns his head to rest it against the top of Foggy’s.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, yawning. “Me, too.”

*

They fall asleep before the fourth drink, and Matt wakes up to thunder that shakes the floor, jolting awake. Foggy sits up beside him, heart racing.

“Shit,” he says.

“Yeah,” Matt says, jumping again at another clap of thunder, making a face.

“You okay?” Foggy asks, touching Matt’s knee, leaving his hand there.

“I’m not scared of thunder, Foggy,” he says. It’s just _loud_.

“To be fair, this is, like, _portent of death thunder_ ,” Foggy says. “I’m kind of scared.”

“You need me to hold your hand?” Matt asks, and Foggy snorts.

“Do not mock my perfectly legitimate wariness of horrifying storms, Murdock,” he says, letting go of Matt’s knee to shove his shoulder. Matt laughs and shoves him back, laughter catching in his throat when Foggy kind of throws himself at him, knocking him to the ground. They play fight, and Matt holds back the way he’s always held back, until the last moment, when he’s straddling Foggy’s hips with his hands pinning Foggy’s shoulders down.

“I win,” Matt says, smiling.

“Congratulations,” Foggy says, dryly.

Matt should probably let him go, but Foggy isn’t trying to get away. There’s a long moment where Matt’s pretty sure neither of them know what they’re doing, but then Foggy says, kind of low, “Matty.”

Rain slaps against their window, the building creaking ominously against the force of the wind, and Matt barely notices them over the sound of Foggy’s heart.

“Uhm,” Matt says. “Do you, uh—want to do something to pass the time?”

“Something?” Foggy asks.

Maybe they can do this. Maybe this will just be another good thing, maybe—maybe Matt can _have_ those. He leans down before the creeping sobriety in the back of his head can convince him otherwise and presses his lips to Foggy’s, a little sloppy, Foggy’s mouth opening underneath his in a soft gasp.

“Is that okay?” Matt asks, pulling back.

“Yeah,” Foggy says. “God, yeah, buddy—do that again.”

Matt grins at him, ducking back down immediately. They trade kisses carefully at first, and Matt’s hands are hesitant on Foggy’s sides until another thunderclap makes him startle and slip so their bodies press and slide together.

“Oh my god,” Foggy murmurs. “Are we gonna—”

He arches up a little instead of finishing his sentence, and Matt lets out a startled breath before he nods.

“I think we are, yeah,” he says, raising his eyebrows questioningly. “Hurricane hook-up?”

Foggy hesitates before he says, firmly, “Hurricane hook-up. Take your shirt off.”

*

Matt’s sprawled out between Foggy’s legs with Foggy’s dick in his mouth when the power goes out. He pulls off when Foggy says so, pressing a kiss to his hip before he says, “I literally can’t tell the difference.”

“Oh, right,” Foggy says, then lies back down, opening his legs wider. “Please continue.”

After Foggy comes and Matt stretches out to grab the trashcan by his desk and spit into it, he crawls back on top of Foggy and kisses him roughly, saying, “You should jerk me off.”

“I can do that,” Foggy says. “Could we move this to a bed, though? I think I have rug burn on my ass.”

Matt laughs.

“Yeah, buddy, come on,” he says, pressing one more kiss to Foggy’s mouth before he stands up to collapse onto his bed. Foggy lies down on his side beside him, licking his palm before he wraps his hand around Matt’s dick.

“Give me some direction here,” Foggy says, nosing against Matt’s cheek before kissing the corner of his mouth while Matt bites back a moan. Already, even though Foggy hasn’t even moved his hand.

“I won’t last very long no matter what,” he says, honestly. “Just—take it slow?”

Foggy kisses him in earnest instead of replying, jerking him off—god, gently seems like a word that shouldn’t be used in this kind of situation, but he’s so _careful_. Matt can’t stop groaning into Foggy’s mouth, rolling his hips up to meet his touch.

“Fog,” he breathes. “God.”

“Are you gonna come for me, Matt?” Foggy asks, and the question sends sparks shooting up Matt’s spine.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, his hips almost leaving the bed. “ _Foggy_.”

Foggy muffles the noise that Matt makes when he comes with a kiss, working him through it until he wipes his hand off on Matt’s sheets and drops down to throw an arm over Matt and press his face into his chest.

“ _Shit_ ,” he says.

“I know,” Matt says, reaching up to touch Foggy’s hair, sliding fingers into it and leaving them there. They doze together, half-asleep, listening as the storm starts to howl.

*

A few hours later, Matt’s sleepily kissing Foggy’s neck when Foggy says, “Hey, Matty?”

“Yeah?” Matt asks, lifting his head.

“Is this— _just_ a hurricane hook-up?” Foggy asks.

Matt’s quiet for a minute before he kisses Foggy’s chin, his mouth.

“Doesn’t have to be,” he offers, quietly.

“Good,” Foggy says. “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but—what if we kept having fun?”

“I like it,” Matt says. “We live together, it’s efficient.”

“I’m all about efficiency,” Foggy agrees, and Matt laughs softly before leaning in to kiss Foggy again, cupping Foggy’s cheek in his hand. He wants to tell him that it’s more than just a hook-up—more than just practical—but maybe they’ll get there naturally.

For now, Foggy’s warm and his body’s calling out to Matt and there’s a lot of storm ahead


End file.
